


To the Crack of His Riding Crop

by flitterflutterfly



Series: Please God, Let Me Live [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, M/M, Porn, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterflutterfly/pseuds/flitterflutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the first crack of his riding crop sounded on John’s skin, Sherlock made a promise to himself that he would always do whatever he could to get that shiver of pleasure to roll down his sub’s back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Crack of His Riding Crop

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in between chapters 2 and 4 of Please God, Let Me Live. Just some shameless porn from Sherlock's POV.

Sherlock knotted the last tie on John’s wrist with a sort of satisfaction he always got when he could admire his own handiwork on the willing body of a submissive. Of course, John was not just any sub.

Sherlock let his gaze trace over the collar on John’s neck and his satisfaction grew. Such a unique man, he mused. So many layers that Sherlock had yet to uncover. This surprising man now submitted to him and only him, for the rest of their time if Sherlock would have his way.

“You have never felt a riding crop before,” Sherlock said aloud.

John did not even jerk at the sound of his voice after many careful minutes of silence. Interesting.

“That’s right, sir,” John said.

Such a steady voice, Sherlock noted. But no hint of defiance, just brash truth. How had that served him in the army?

“We will use the green-yellow-red scale for now, then,” Sherlock said. He had given John no safeword when he collared him and he wouldn’t do so now. It gave him an extra bit of pleasure to know that John would not scream and plead, that he would say stop only when he meant it.

John was much stronger than most of his dynamic.

“Yes, sir,” John agreed.

“Prepare yourself, then,” Sherlock said mildly. “Ten to start. Count them aloud.”

As the first crack of his riding crop sounded on John’s skin, Sherlock made a promise to himself that he would always do whatever he could to get that shiver of pleasure to roll down his Sub’s back again, as it was doing now. It shocked him, a bit, that he felt so much. Feelings were not something he indulged in often.

“One,” John called.

Sherlock had barely left a mark with the first. That was no good. He struck the second one down in a steeper ark.

“Two,” John said. His voice cut off at the end as Sherlock continued to strike. “Three, four, five.”

The soft red welts made a serpentine pattern on John’s back.

_S_

Sherlock stopped at ten as he’d said, though his arm twitched for more, to see more of his work on this beautiful man. How many scars John already had… he wanted only his own there.

This was his mark now. An S. The meanings rolled themselves around Sherlock’s mind and his grip on the riding crop tightened. He circled around John, tied as he was by the ropes that hang from ceiling hooks. His cock was hard, erect proudly. Sherlock, too, wore nothing and his own cock matched John’s.

“Light?” Sherlock asked.

“Green,” John said, breath coming a bit quicker.

“Count in your mind for the next, I will ask you how many,” Sherlock commanded. “Remember, John, you are not to come until I tell you.”

“Yes, sir,” John’s head was hanging slightly. He was breathing through his nose, Sherlock noted. Controlling his reactions. Good.

Sherlock arm struck, reinforcing the forming bruises already there. Darkening his mark. He kept his blows away from the spine, it would not do to damage the man permanently. Not so soon after he’d found him.

 _Not ever_ , his mind whispered.

Sherlock struck the next smack across John’s ass, breaking the pattern. John’s skin twitched and he let out a soft sort of gasping sound.

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock breathed as his eyes lit upon the red streaks. “How many, John?”

John’s arm, his right, flexed. Sherlock kept his eye on the left; that shoulder would be starting to ache now. “Fifteen, sir,” he said after a moment’s pause.

Sherlock slapped the mark on his ass with a bare hand. “Be quicker in your answering next time.”

“Yes, sir,” John’s head ducked a bit lower.

“Light?” he asked again.

“G-green,” John whispered.

The blindfold on his eyes must be getting to him, now. Sherlock let his steps soften as he walked around to the front and, without warning, cracked the crop across John’s right nipple.

John arched back, moaning. “Sherlock!”

Reaffirming, Sherlock nodded. He was glad John was blindfolded, if only that the smirk on his face might ruin the mood.

And what a delicious mood it was.

His crop hit against John’s right thigh, and then his left. Sherlock stepped closer, grabbing John’s cock and pulling at it. “Don’t come,” he warned, and then did his best to incite an orgasm with his fingers.

John was panting loudly when Sherlock gave up. He was impressed despite himself. “Good, John.” His stroked lightly at John’s cheek, and then brought his hand down to his nipple, twisting it.

“Sir, please,” John gasped.

“What is it, John?” Sherlock asked easily.

“I want, I want,” John whimpered as Sherlock let go of his nipple and bit down against his scarred shoulder.

Sherlock withdrew, his own arousal affecting his patience. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, sir, I want you to fuck me,” John said in soft moans.

With loud steps, Sherlock circled back around to John’s back and ran a hand down to John’s hole, sticking his thumb in roughly. The hole was lubed, he realized as his thumb came back wet. “Did you do this, John?” he asked sharply.

“To be ready for you, sir,” John nodded.

Sherlock frowned. He was usually a fan of preparing his subs himself. But they had not discussed such and John did not know. “Have you been good enough to deserve my cock in your ass, I wonder?”

“Sir, Sherlock, please!” John begged immediately.

Not a statement of having been good, Sherlock thought. The decision was up to him, then. _How smart_ , he wondered if John made that choice on purpose, but no he was deep enough already that his mental abilities should not be to the level of manipulative tactics.

Sherlock leaned forward and traced his tongue and teeth down the S on John’s back. His hands came to grip John’s hips, the crop dropping to the floor. He lined himself up with the ease of practice and thrust in.

John gasped and thrust back against him. “Be still,” Sherlock ordered. John stopped moving immediately. “Good.”

The wet slapping of skin echoed through their flat. Sherlock’s eyes took in his marks, so close, and then he lay his chest against John’s back, forcing his Sub to bend forward, stretching his rope-bound arms back.

John moaned loudly. “Sherlock, wanna come, sir, please.”

“Hold it,” Sherlock said. He knew John would obey. “Light?”

“Green, green,” John cried.

Sherlock’s own orgasm was approaching, unstoppable to him as he felt the heat of welts on the touching skin. “You are doing so well John,” he said, his words just barely distinguishable.

When he finally did come, it took him by surprise. For a moment too long, he couldn’t figure out what it was that had tipped him over the edge, until he heard again John’s almost inaudible mumbling. “Sherlock, Sherlock, sir, please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he emptied himself into his Sub. John’s back shivered against him and he wrapped his right arm around John’s torso. “Come.”

John did in an arch of white that hit the floor with a soft plopping sound. “Sherlock,” he whimpered.

“I’m here, John,” Sherlock said. His hands splayed over his sub, his to mark and claim. He would not let John go, he could not.

John was his.

Sherlock pulled out of John’s body and untied the ropes around his wrists, knowing that to leave John as he was for too much longer would be to harm the man. John went limp in his arms as he maneuvered them both to the bed. His come was still leaking from John’s hole and it sent of a wave of pure ownership through Sherlock.

John’s face came to rest tucked into Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock allowed it, aligning their bodies to be able to rest comfortably.

His crop still lay on the ground, he realized as he began to contemplate drifting off. John would have to clean it for him, but he did not think his sub would mind too terribly.

John’s breathing evened out into sleep and Sherlock smiled.


End file.
